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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659436">If You Knew Me Truly</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabletoppy/pseuds/tabletoppy'>tabletoppy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, COVID, COVID - no one gets sick, M/M, Pandemic - Freeform, Quarantine, Quarantine as Plot Device, Real Life, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:00:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25659436</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabletoppy/pseuds/tabletoppy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The pandemic is turning life upside down. Billy Hargrove finds his hard-earned path through college disrupted, and now he's moving from one unsafe housing situation to another. Support arrives in the form of his old high school rival, longtime secret crush, and current loser at life, Steve Harrington.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Larry Kline, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>If You Knew Me Truly</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't know where this came from. I think it's my way of processing some stuff. Normally I read and write fan fiction to escape reality. But here I go inserting these poor characters right in the middle of it. I would really, really understand not wanting to read this... but if you do, welcome! As stated in the tags, the circumstances of early quarantine is the setting, but I will state upfront that (1) no characters get sick or are in any life-threatening situation; and (2) artistic license may be taken regarding real life events (such as Indiana pandemic timeline and response). Endgame Harringrove, with some dub-con (not between Billy and Steve), domestic violence, and mental health issues along the way. Individual chapter warnings in end notes. I won't warn for the pandemic/quarantine content every time because those are in the general tags.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You would never call me baby<br/>
If you knew me truly<br/>
Oh but I waited so long for your love<br/>
I am scared baby that I can't keep it up for long<br/>
Boy I wish I grow up the second<br/>
I first held you in my arms<br/>
Underneath this hood you kiss<br/>
I tick like a bomb<br/>
You would never call me baby<br/>
If you knew me truly<br/>
Oh but I waited so long for you love<br/>
I will fight baby not to do you wrong</p><p>--"Hood,” Perfume Genius </p><p> </p><p>The announcement had come out earlier that day: the entire university was switching to remote learning for the remainder of the academic year, and residence halls were kicking everyone out by the end of spring break. </p><p>Everyone he saw on campus looked like they were about to burst into tears, laugh uncontrollably, or throw up. Maybe all three at once. </p><p>Or maybe he was projecting. Billy really, really, really didn’t want to go back to Hawkins. </p><p>Since leaving for college two-and-a-half years ago, he’d arranged his life so he was never there for more than a few days a year. He stayed year-round in Chicago for jobs, internships, winter-term classes, whatever it took; and like everything else related to his education, he earned it all himself by working like a dog and applying for every scholarship he could. </p><p>On such short notice, there was no way Billy could come up with arrangements other than the university housing and food plan included in his financial aid package. He was reluctant to cut into his savings, earmarked for a sublet this summer in D.C., where he had an internship at progressive think tank. (That would still happen, right? He couldn’t think about that now.) And with his work-study job at the library on hold until further notice, he had no real income to speak of.  </p><p>Fuck. </p><p>In the endless loop of communications that appeared on every available screen, personal and public, Billy noted that students could petition for special permission to stay on campus. “For students with travel restrictions and other circumstances that prevent them leaving.” </p><p>Every time he read these words, Billy’s neck became hot and he felt his hands clench into fists. </p><p>Billy really, really, really didn’t want to go back to Hawkins, but he also really, really, really didn’t want to sit down with some administrator to determine if a shitty home life qualified as “other circumstances.”  </p><p> “You can stay here.” </p><p>Larry. </p><p>Billy blinked in surprise. </p><p>They’d been spooning after sex, their bodies glued together by sweat and spunk. This was typical for them. They were also talking, murmuring in the darkness, which was not typical at all. </p><p>Normally, they had a simple, detached, action-orientated relationship, established in a Boystown bar when Billy was a freshman and brand new to the city, armed with a decent fake ID, a boatload of daddy issues, and an unprecedented sense of freedom and opportunity to do the things he’d never allowed himself to do before. </p><p>He’d barely gotten past the bouncer when Larry Kline swooped in and picked him up. From the first drink, their dynamic was largely transactional. Larry gave Billy a crash course in gay sex, as well occasional gifts of expensive tech and designer accessories; and Billy gave Larry the leeway to do as he wished in bed, content in the knowledge that the guy didn’t seem to have a lot of kinks, at least compared to what Billy had seen on the Internet. </p><p>A few months in, when Billy had started to get his bearings in the city, he realized how lucky he was that Larry had found him, and not some freak.    </p><p>Sure, Larry was a rich, privileged asshole who was definitely not interested in Billy as a person. But the thing was: Billy wasn’t interested in other people either. </p><p>Like many a reality show contestant, Billy had arrived in his new environment with a mantra: “I’m not here to make friends.” Truth was, he sucked at it. In high school, he always had sycophants, attracted by his swagger and athleticism and tendency to pick fights and win them. But he was careful to keep his fan club at a safe distance in all the ways that mattered. Much to the frustration of the girls he’d dated, he’d trade body fluids before secrets any day.  </p><p>Hell, the only person in high school who had even known Billy’s address was Steve Harrington, of all people. And that was only from dropping Max off after she’d spent the weekend doing whatever the hell she did with King Steve’s merry band of middle school losers. </p><p>It had to be that way. His dad, Neil, made closeness of any kind of impossible, even among his own family in his own house. And that was fine – Billy needed to keep his eye on the prize, the prize being never having to see or depend on his father ever again. He’d seen no reason to change his ways once he got to college, because if Billy knew anything, it was that he wasn’t out of the woods yet – not until he no longer needed his father’s (reluctant) cooperation on financial aid applications. True independence would not be realized until he was an income-earning, full-fledged adult. Anything less kept him in the danger zone. </p><p>So Billy’s job was to study, work, focus, and fuck his way to freedom.  </p><p>So yeah, Billy and Larry’s relationship – such as it was – wasn’t very deep or meaningful. But neither of them sought that from the other. Most of their conversations revolved around sex. They mostly went to outrageously expensive restaurants, where Larry would spend the entire meal planning, out loud and in detail, everything he planned to do to Billy later that evening. He enjoyed scandalizing the servers and tipping based on their reactions (the more professional they were, the less they got; Larry loved to see them squirm, blush, stammer, or – even better – smile flirtatiously and play along).  </p><p>Later they would fuck in Larry’s luxury high-rise condo on Michigan Avenue, where Billy was accustomed to staying the night – he even had a drawer for his stuff – but merely for convenience, not because they’d been getting closer or anything like that. </p><p>Yet the fact of the matter was this: the oncoming pandemic made everything more intense, more emotional. Everyone was on edge, including Larry and Billy. There had been almost no dirty talk over dinner; instead they’d discussed the university’s announcement, Larry’s job (executive management was about to mandate remote working), and whether it was even safe to be eating in this fucking restaurant. They both had too much to drink, because drinking made the situation seem less terrifying and more hysterical. They kept saying, “This is wild, man.” </p><p>Everything felt extra vivid and slightly unreal, like Billy was a character in a TV show that was about to take a very weird turn.   </p><p>When they got back to Larry’s condo, their sex had had a new quality to it. Larry was frantic, an unfamiliar and almost desperate look in his eyes. He dragged Billy’s clothes off of him and didn’t prep him very well; it hurt like the first few times. </p><p>As Billy lay there, barely participating, Larry’s hand on the back of his head scrubbing his face against the 500-count Egyptian cotton sheets, he felt himself begin to float away. He was a like a balloon tethered by thin ribbon to something real – the bed, the fucking – just bobbing gently in the air, above it all, untouched. </p><p>It was an odd sensation, but after the stress of the last few days, it was also a relief.  Sweet relief. </p><p>Larry had come inside him, and he hadn’t even noticed. </p><p>After lying in bed in quietly for some time – how long, Billy wasn’t sure – they picked up the conversation from dinner: the shitstorm on the horizon. In the strange, altered reality of the night, Billy had found himself sharing, tentatively, about his housing dilemma. He didn’t provide any explanation for wanting to avoid his dad’s house, but Larry was not an idiot and was probably making some guesses. The thought made Billy’s stomach churn with shame.  </p><p>The truth was, Billy didn’t really want to ask Larry for help; he just wanted the problem to exist beyond the walls of his own head (or his own house) for once. To be acknowledged by someone else. Anyone else. Even Larry. </p><p>He could feel Larry’s hot breath on the back of his neck. The guy was clearly contemplating something. Then came those words that he never would’ve anticipated: </p><p>“You can stay here.” </p><p>Billy dislodged himself from Larry’s arms and turned to look at Larry in the dim blue light coming from various electronics throughout the bedroom. While the guy never looked exactly trustworthy, right now, he did look serious. Dead serious. </p><p>Larry continued, “I never even go in the second guest room. You could set up in there. Do all your classes, school work...”   </p><p>Billy thought about it. Larry had this huge apartment, reliable high-speed Internet, a full home gym, and spectacular views of the city. There were far worse places to spend the anticipated quarantine. </p><p>But what the hell was the guy thinking – they barely knew each other. Larry would get tired of Billy in no time.  </p><p>Billy meant to respond, “Thanks for the offer, but don’t worry about it,” or play hard to get – a  technique he practiced with Larry frequently. </p><p>Instead, as if possessed, Billy said, “Really?” </p><p>… and immediately hated how young and vulnerable he sounded.</p><p>“You’ll almost never see me during the day,” Larry said, as if this was a problem. “I’ll be working from home, but I’ll have to shut myself in the office most of the time. No interruptions. I mean it. Our markets are going to be in chaos… I can’t be distracted.” He paused and raised an eyebrow. “Except on my terms.” </p><p>And he winked and palmed Billy’s junk, once again the lascivious Larry to whom Billy was accustomed. </p><p>Billy winked and grinned back, but not too much. He had to dial it down. He didn’t want Larry to know what a big deal this was, what it meant to Billy. He couldn’t give this douchebag that kind of leverage. Maybe Billy could flip it around, make it seem like he was doing Larry the favor. </p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Billy said, shrugging a little, cocking his head. “That could work.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warnings: sort of sugar daddy/baby relationship, implied/referenced child abuse, dubious consent, disassociation</p></blockquote></div></div>
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